


Basic Instinct

by keithyourpal



Series: sheith modern omegaverse [1]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alpha Hunk (Voltron), Alpha Shiro (Voltron), Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Camboy Lotor (Voltron), Creampie, Knotting, Love Triangles, M/M, Male Lactation, Married Couple, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Minor Keith/Lotor (Voltron), Mpreg, Mutual Pining, Nipple Piercings, Omega Keith (Voltron), Omega Lotor (Voltron), Pack Bonding, Pack Dynamics, Pregnancy, Pregnant Sex, Protective Shiro (Voltron), Semi-Public Sex, Slow Burn, Surrogacy, Tattoos, Unrequited Love, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-07
Updated: 2019-03-03
Packaged: 2019-08-20 00:25:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16545233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keithyourpal/pseuds/keithyourpal
Summary: Shiro and his husband are both alphas. When they decide to have kids, Keith offers to be their surrogate. He tells himself he's doing it for the right reason and that he won't let his feelings for Shiro get in the way. But naturally, they do.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Credit to Squid for the idea of Keith offering to be Shiro and Cha--I mean, Roy's surrogate.
> 
> The leaks made me really miserable for the past two weeks, but now I'm in a place where I can laugh at them and have fun again. I think they're fake but there's just no way to know for sure until Dec. 14. Whatever will be, will be.

  
  


_Cause I think I've had enough_  
_Of young and fickle love_  
_It was never what I thought it was_

  
  
  


After the wedding, Keith decides to move. That weekend, while Shiro and his husband fly to Japan for their honeymoon, Keith locks himself in his tiny apartment and takes his life apart.

His husky Kosmo sits on the bed, sniffing curiously at his face while he searches for a playlist of loud, senseless rock music. As frantic drums and gravelly vocals blare from his phone’s pitiful speakers, he moves from room to room, grabbing at posters and picture frames and stray laundry without any sort of plan, only stopping when his bed and floor are so littered that he can’t reach his phone to change playlists to something even angrier.

By Sunday evening his few belongings have been divided into keep, donate, or trash, all separated into cardboard boxes and plastic bags. The crappy end table he got at a garage sale last summer, with a wobbly leg and broken drawer, is the only piece of furniture he keeps other than his mattress. His CDs, posters, and the collection of trading cards he’s had since middle school go in the donate box.

Hunk comes by early the next morning with his truck. He stands in Keith’s kitchenette, looking out to the once-decorated walls of Keith’s living room, to the haphazard stack of boxes and bags piled by his front door, and asks, “Keith, do you want to talk about it?”

“No,” Keith says. He ties up the last bag of garbage and kicks it toward the door, where it slumps against the others. He feels Kosmo’s silky fur tickle his ankles as she passes by him, coming from his room to investigate. She sniffs at the rest of his little keep pile, consisting of his guitar case, backpack, and a box with some pots, pans, his favorite mug, and her chew toys.

Hunk moves around the kitchen, opening the cupboards and drawers that Keith already picked clean. His tongue clicks absently at each empty cabinet, until he runs out of things to rifle through and is forced to ask, “Buuut you have a new place . . . right?”

“No,” Keith says again. Hunk gives him a look, then comes to help move the first load of boxes downstairs.

They drop off the appropriate things at the thrift store and the dump, and then they’re on their way out of Plaht City. Hunk hums along to the radio, glancing sidelong every now and then to check on Keith, who tries to look out the window and focus on the traffic flashing by.

For the past ninety hours he has managed to stay focused on what he’s doing and not on why. Now, as he and Hunk settle in for a long drive to nowhere, it’s hard not to think back on the wedding. The small quiet wedding Shiro never thought he’d get to have, to the handsome understanding guy he never thought he’d meet, not after things with Adam fell apart several years back.

Keith was in high school when the breakup happened. In some ways he’d been too young and naïve to understand Shiro’s feelings, much less his own, and yet even now, as he reaches into his jacket pocket and unlocks his phone, it seems so simple and obvious.

 _It could never be me_ , he thinks as he opens his web browser. The tab is still open to Shiro’s Instagram. For whatever reason, or maybe too many reasons for Keith to win against, four years after Adam left, Roy came along, and there was nothing Keith could have said or done to make things turn out differently. It didn’t matter that Roy was still practically a stranger when he asked Shiro out on the first date. It didn’t matter that they were both alphas. None of it fucking mattered.

He scrolls through the wedding pictures, feeling like he’ll puke as he’s bombarded by photo after photo of him, Lance, Hunk, and Pidge in matching suits, of Allura in a beautiful blue dress that matches the tweedia in the bouquet, of Shiro smiling through tears as he reads his vows. Finally Keith reaches _that_ picture, the one that jump started the final leg of his downward spiral almost a year ago.

A star emoji captions the picture of Shiro kissing Roy at a fancy outdoor dinner. With candles, of course. White tablecloth, champagne. His gray v neck dips so low that his collarbones are on full display, an initial distraction from how his and Roy’s hands rest side by side on the table, showing off their matching engagement rings.

The replies are full of caps locked congratulations and every expletive imaginable, dozens of well wishes, an endless wall of excitement from classmates and colleagues and Roy’s hive of extended relatives. Somewhere in the chaos Keith finally spots his own reply, made days later than everyone else’s.

_Couldn’t be happier._

He turns his phone off and tosses it in the backseat.  


\-----

  
“So, I know Shay said I could take as many days off as I want, but uh, it would help if you found a new place to live _before_ I lose my job, y’know?” Hunk says over the campfire that evening. They drove for hours before deciding on a campsite over a motel, and Keith is grateful as the chill wind bites at him through his clothes. “I mean, I just think it’d be better if you get an actual plan together. This week, preferably.”

Keith watches the flames lick up around the grill and pot of stew as Hunk stirs. Around them the woods teem with the distant sounds of hidden wildlife and other campers, keeping Kosmo’s ears pricked and on high alert. When Keith pats her on the head her tail thumps wildly against the underbrush.

“I know it hurts,” Hunk says after a long silence, broken by the crackle of fire.

“No, you don’t,” Keith snaps.

“Dude, I know you’ve been crushing on Shiro for, like, years. And honestly? It wasn’t that hard to figure out.”

Keith glares at the fire, crossing his arms in his lap.

“I’m not gonna say you should be happy,” Hunk says, putting the lid back on the pot. “I know you care about him, man. I know you want whatever he wants. But you—”

“But _what_ , Hunk? But I should’ve told him how I felt if I was going to be this miserable?” Keith says. After a weekend of silence, he almost doesn’t recognize his own voice, thin and fragile as black ice. It cracks and splinters. “But I should’ve risked our friendship and told him that I’ve _lied_ to him all this time?”

He jumps to his feet, startling Kosmo, and kicks through the leaves around their tent, hands stuck under his armpits against the cold. For years he’s beaten himself up, torn by indecision. _Tell him, don’t tell him. He’ll understand, he’ll leave you behind_. Either way, the answer would still be no. Either way he would still be here, spending the night in the woods, while Shiro was off on his honeymoon with some other guy.

When he comes back to the fire, Hunk has set a plate down with some chunks of meat for Kosmo and is ladling up a bowl for Keith.

“But,” he says calmly once Keith throws himself back down on his log, “you don’t need to define yourself by Shiro’s happiness.” He looks up at Keith, earnest and kind and completely misguided.

“I do,” Keith says, a confession as much as it is a resignation, “because I _love_ him.”  


\-----

  
They camp out for three more days. Shay manages the bakery by herself, tagging them every morning in pictures of each day’s specialty desserts. She made the wedding cake herself, crafting a three-tier monument to the grooms’ love of aviation and each other.

On the third morning, she sends them a picture of winter-themed cupcakes that have a similar shade of blue frosting as the wedding cake. Keith crawls out of his sleeping bag and the tent, stumbles over to the firepit, and vomits. Even after spending a year trying to keep it together, trying to smile for Shiro and pretending that with enough practice it will be genuine, his body is just as unwilling as his heart to move on.

“Hunk,” he croaks as he crawls back inside, over to where Kosmo is tucked against Hunk’s chest, “I think I’m ready to go.”

Hunk snorts, fighting against consciousness. “Huhhh?” he says groggily, spluttering when Kosmo’s tail whaps him against the face. He sits up and stretches, blinking. “What? Where we goin’?”

“I don’t know.” Keith throws himself down on his sleeping bag and curls his fists in his hair. “Anywhere. I just—”

He breaks off when he hears a synth riff sound off from somewhere under Kosmo’s butt. The ringtone he assigned to Shiro’s number. His Pavlovian response is to dig around until he finds his phone, feeling sick all over again at the thought of what he’ll see. Shiro and Roy must be somewhere in Tokyo right now, hitting all the typical landmarks.

_Morning, Keith. Hope you’re OK. Hunk is worried._

Keith throws his phone at Hunk. “You jerk! You told him?”

“Ow! No, no, no! I just asked him to check on you! He must have figured something was up.” Hunk nudges Kosmo aside and shuffles out of the tent on all fours. Keith hears his joints popping as he stands up and stretches outside. “C’mon,” he says with a big yawn, “let’s break camp and get outta here. I’m dying for some actual coffee. And a waffle. Maybe two waffles.”

“Make it three,” Keith says darkly, rolling up his sleeping bag.

They grab a late breakfast at the first diner they cross after leaving the campsite. Hunk looks at apartment listings while Keith stares at Shiro’s text, typing out a message only to delete it, repeating the process over and over until he gives up and crams his face with cold, limp waffles instead.

 _Fine_ , he replies as they wait for the check. _Hangover. Have fun._

“How about this?” Hunk says, sticking his phone under Keith’s nose. “It’s close to a park, a library, a vegan café--wait, make that, like, five vegan cafés actually--and it’s all the way on the other side of the county from campus. Is that far enough away for you?”

Keith flicks through pictures of the property, then checks out the listing. The property is a dilapidated two-story house in the historical district, divided into two apartments. The lister lives on the first floor. Fine with pets. Prospective renters must be fine with noisy upstairs neighbor and traffic from the Catholic school across the street. Keith enters the contact number in his own phone and shoots the lister a text, asking to meet up that afternoon.

He looks at a few other listings on Hunk’s phone on the drive back to Plaht City. All the single-room apartments in the historical district are too expensive, and no other multi-room listings Hunk picked out are from another omega.

In the end, the first text he sends is the only one, because even though the house is a dump with peeling paint and dead shrubbery, it’s as big and cheap as he can afford. And in a way the run-down appearance is kind of endearing; it certainly matches his furniture better than his old apartment ever did.

“When can I pay you back for the camping equipment?” he aks, feeling guilty that Hunk purchased everything for them both. Keith knows none of it will be used again, not when Hunk eats, sleeps, lives, and vacations at the bakery.

“Nah man, don’t worry about it,” Hunk says. “Just let me come along when you meet this guy. I don’t trust your judgement right now. No offense.”

“You’re the one who suggested it!”

“Yeah, ‘cause the rent wasn’t outrageous and the lister was another omega, two things that really limit your options. And I _did_ suggest other options. I didn’t know that place was so—eugh! Did you see that hole in the kitchen wall?” Hunk shivers.

The neighborhood has a park and library, true to the lister’s word. The streets are narrow and uneven, but the greenery makes the area feel spacious, certainly less constrained than the busy intersection where Keith’s old apartment complex was crammed between a laundromat and a yoga center. Hunk parks his truck carefully behind a tiny smart car at the curb and cuts the ignition.

“Is that him?” he says sharply, squinting at the rearview mirror then twisting around to stare in horror out the back window. “Oh my god, I think that’s him! Oh my god, Keith! You want to room with a serial killer!”

Keith looks back and scoffs. “What, so having white hair makes him a serial killer? You wanna run that by Allura?”

“Well, no, but do you really wanna find out?”

Keith lets Kosmo out of the backseat and leashes her up. As they come up the front walk he makes eye contact with the man on the porch. On reflex he feels himself slip into the role of the other Keith, the one he was at the wedding, the one he’s been for so long that sometimes he can’t remember which one is the imposter. “Hey, it’s Lotor, right? Keith. Nice to meet you.”

Lotor is spread out on a swinging bench with his long silvery white hair pulled into a messy ponytail that spills over his left shoulder. True to the listing, he smells omegan, and Keith cautiously takes in the relaxing effect the pheromones have on him. After living alone for almost a year, and having mostly beta and alpha friends, the sensation is strange, and he feels too raw to welcome it entirely.

Lotor reaches out a hand, ignores Keith’s, and pets an eagerly panting Kosmo. “And who might you be?” he asks, in a voice much deeper than Keith expected, given how delicate and willowy he is. Kosmo twists and turn under the touch, happy for the attention. Lotor breaks into a small grin that vanishes when Hunk appears.

“I’m Hunk,” he puffs, rubbing his hands together. “Can we go inside? I don’t think Keith knows what he’s getting into.”

“Your boyfriend?” Lotor asks.

“ _No!_ ” Keith and Hunk say together. As an omega and alpha do, they get the question a lot, and it never stops being horrifying. The thought is as strange to Keith as dating his childhood teddy bear.

“Well, when you put it like that, I certainly believe you.” Lotor steps between them gracefully, keeping a hand on Kosmo’s head as she trails beside him, nails tapping across the porch. “Follow me. I’ll show you around.”

Two doors stand to the right hand side of the porch. Lotor unlocks the left door and holds it open for them. His apartment has a living room, a full kitchen, a dining room, two bedrooms, and a spare room. The dining room is piled with plastic storage bins and manila folders, some workout equipment, and a bookshelf full of books, DVDs, and glass ornaments. The spare room down the hall is locked; Lotor opens the door to the second bedroom before Keith can ask about it.

“For the lady,” Lotor says as he flips on the light. Kosmo bounds across the floor to set her paws on the naked window sill, peering out the window at the backyard. “The place is old as shit and the landlady doesn’t want to bother with getting any repairs done. Still, it’s close to some of the best clubs in downtown.”

“I like it,” Keith says, and he means it. The room has a thick coating of dust all over its cracked walls, and the floorboards are loose and unsteady under his feet. Despite the issues, it feels homely. The small yard looks perfect for Kosmo to stretch her legs and roll in the grass, and maybe he could lie down with her and try to write a song. If nothing else, the view is nice.

Down the hall he can hear Hunk creaking around the kitchen, probably inspecting the offending hole in the wall by the fridge.

“So,” Lotor drawls, drawing the _oh_ sound out, “tell me, Keith, why a pretty omega like you would show up with an alpha you say you’re not dating, smelling like a different alpha?”

Keith freezes with his hand stretched out toward the closet door.

“Mostly you smell like smoke and,” Lotor sniffs for emphasis, “like you’re five days overdue for a shower, but your jacket—”

“It’s none of your business,” Keith says shortly, yanking the closet door open and glaring at the empty darkness. The jacket hasn’t been washed in almost two weeks, not since Shiro took it off and put it around him after the bachelor party to wear home. Pathetically, Keith put it in a donate box at one point this past weekend, only to dig it out and put it back on when he and Hunk started loading the truck. He used it as a freaking pillow while they were camping out.

Lotor shrugs. “I was just curious since we’ll be roommates.”

“I haven’t agreed to anything.”

“Oh, please. We know you will.” Lotor pulls his hair out of its tie, letting it tumble down in a wave, and winks. “Meet me in the living room when you’re ready to make it legally binding.”

After he flounces out the door, Keith continues to stand in front of the closet in an oversized jacket that smells like booze, campfire smoke, and the alpha he’s cried over for two weeks straight. Kosmo licks him on the hand and pads back to the living room, where Keith finds Hunk settled onto the couch with a mug of tea. Lotor spreads out all the necessary documents on the coffee table.

“Help me bring my stuff in,” Keith says, avoiding the bug-eyed look Hunk shoots him. They wrestle his mattress through the door and fill the dusty bedroom with his few belongings. Kosmo does her part by settling on top of the mattress once Keith finishes spreading out his comforter and brings her favorite toy out of the box. He leaves her to squeak away happily while he signs off on the lease.

“Keep me updated,” Hunk says after everything is settled. He stands outside on the porch while Keith leans against the doorframe. “If you want to live with a probable serial killer then fine, you’re an adult. But I draw the line at you going hungry. You know me and Shay always have leftovers.”

Keith lets Hunk pull him into a big hug, returning it somewhat uncomfortably. Hunk is big and broad, and his plump arms envelope Keith with a fierce protectiveness that he appreciates but never knows how to accept naturally. Hugs and physical affection aren’t really his thing.

“I know, Hunk,” he says, and now of all times he feels himself begin to choke up with tears again. “I-I’ll be okay. Okay?”

“Okay,” Hunk says, giving him one more final squeeze for good measure, then sets him down. Then he adds, only somewhat sarcastically, “Nice meeting you, Lotor.”

“Charmed,” Lotor says, and shuts the door in his face. 

A silence stretches on, then Hunk’s footsteps creak down the steps. Lotor returns to lounging on one side of the couch, kicking off his slippers, and looks through the documents. He picks up a small envelope and holds it out for Keith. “Here’s your key. Don’t lose it, the landlady will give you hell about replacing it. Trust me.”

Keith attaches it to his keyring. He remains standing, feeling out of place. The living room is only furnished with Lotor’s things, giving Keith the definite impression that he’s an intruder rather than a tenant. The frenzied momentum that carried him through the past week of hasty decisions has left him along with Hunk.

“So, uh,” he says, fishing desperately for something to talk about, “you a student?”

“Not anymore. You?”

“Yeah, at the Garrison.”

“That’s nice,” Lotor deadpans, “what are you majoring in, lovestruck fool?”

He sets the papers down, not bothering to hide his smirk at Keith’s expression.

“Keith, you’re not the first omega I’ve ever roomed with who was trying to get over an alpha. You reek of it.” Lotor pulls up his longs and sits upright, patting the cushion beside him. “You’re too stoic to tell your friends how you feel. Even Handsome from earlier, even though he was so helpful. So, tell me. I have the benefit of being another omega and not giving a shit, so it all works out for you.”

Keith hesitates. Opening up to strangers has never been easy or comfortable, and still he finds himself giving into the calmness that Lotor’s pheromones induce. So, after another moment of deliberation, he sinks down on the couch and starts from the beginning.  


\-----

  
He wakes up with the mother of all hangovers in a bed that isn’t his, without pants or a shirt or Kosmo’s comforting weight beside him. Instead he feels the heat of another body—omegan, yet no less troubling for it. Struggling to piece together how he got here, he begins to remember a scant few basic facts like his name, his judo instructor’s phone number, and some of his bad decisions from the day before.

“Lotor,” he groans when the name pops into his pounding head as he inhales the sweet scent, “fuck, what did we do?”

“Who knows?” Lotor mumbles in a low, cracked voice. “Must’ve been fun. Move over.”

His feet feel like ice against Keith’s bare legs. He rolls onto his side, pulling the covers from Keith’s side of the bed with him. Keith blinks against the weak light streaming through the blinds and looks down at his body. He notes almost with more disappointment than relief that he isn’t covered in any hickeys or other incriminating marks. Just goosebumps and dog fur. He leans over his side of the bed and sees that their clothes are strewn in a careless line from the door to the night stand.

His phone sticks out from the back pocket of his jeans, and the screen lights up with a sudden buzz. He sinks onto the floor and scoots toward it on his knees. He expects to see a dozen nagging texts from Hunk or maybe Allura, and almost drops his phone when he sees that instead, he’s just missed a seventh call from Shiro.

When his phone vibrates again a minute later, he answers with a tight, gnawing sense of dread in his chest. “H’lo?” he says, wincing at how rough and ragged he sounds.

“Keith, where are you?” Shiro’s tone is beyond concerned—it’s the strict, tell-me-now kind of tone he uses on his students, like when he was the T. A. for Keith’s intro to chemistry course. It’s the kind of tone that verges on the precipice of his alpha voice, and Keith fights against the omegan instincts that make him want to roll over and show his proverbial belly.

“My, uh, apartment,” he says evasively.

“The one you just moved to and signed a lease for out of nowhere?” Shiro says, and yeah, he sounds _mad_. It sends a confusing thrill up Keith’s spine and down to his cock.

He hears noises in the background from Shiro’s side of the line. The light murmur of distant chatter, the clink of tableware. Then he hears Roy’s smooth voice asking, “Is everything alright?”

“Call off the search party,” Keith spits, the confusing pleasure dissipating as quickly as it came over him. “Don’t you two have a castle to make out in?”

“Keith—”

He hangs up and, hands shaking, blocks Shiro’s number. He gathers up his clothes, feeling his face burn from the headache and the sudden rush of anger-lust. Through his bangs he sees Lotor propped up against his pillow as he observes the drama in detached silence. 

He scratches at a geometric snake tattoo that coils around his left shoulder and leads under the neckline of his shirt. Keith still can’t remember what all he said last night after joining him on the couch. All he remembers is the six pack of beer they went through.

“I’m gonna take a shower,” he mutters awkwardly, helplessly and tucks his wad of clothes under his arm. The bathroom has an ancient clawfoot tub with a weak shower head. He sits, huddled, in the center of the large tub, feeling like it could swallow him whole as it begins to fill.


	2. Chapter 2

Keith spends the next week wallowing on his mattress with his head under the pillow. He keeps his door propped open with the box of pots and pans, so Kosmo can come and go as she pleases. He can’t even get himself to put his laundry away or sweep the floor, or do anything to make it feel like a nest and not just a room. A nest is a place of solace and comfort, of protection, and as the hours go by he thinks he doesn’t deserve any of that right now. He breathes in the dust and tries to let his mind go.

Lotor leaves him alone, giving up after the first day when he can’t get Keith to go furniture shopping together. He comes home late every evening, wearing tight clothes that smell like booze and a changing array of betas and alphas.

On Friday he comes home well after midnight, giggling tipsily as soon as he manages to get the door open. Keith wants to stick his head out the window and scream, because there’s another voice, another set of eager footsteps chasing Lotor as they stumble past Keith’s open door down the hall.

When the door to Lotor’s room shuts, Keith finally drags himself out of bed because nope, no way, he is _not_ doing this again. This is another reason why he moved off-campus. He pulls a pair of jeans over his pajama pants and grabs Shiro’s jacket off the doorknob, then whistles softly for Kosmo to follow him.

The park down the street is pitch black, with only an occasional twin post street light along the sidewalk. He hears Kosmo dart ahead of him and snuffle in the bushes as they walk, too aware of his phone sitting heavily in the jacket pocket.

Today marks two weeks since the wedding--two weeks since the final bubble of self-will keeping him afloat popped. When he turns his phone on he has to endure endless vibrations as it catches up on the past few days’ notifications.

He sits on a cold bench as he scrolls through his messages, surprised to see that no one apart from Hunk and Shiro have tried contacting him more than once or twice. His trainer Kolivan is ticked he missed practice on Wednesday--Keith had honestly forgotten Kolivan even existed while in the daze following the bachelor party and wedding. Lance and Pidge each texted him about getting his help in wrapping Christmas present for their families. Allura wants him to email any pictures he took at the wedding so she can add them to her scrapbook.

So far, it seems none of them have been made aware of his spontaneous decision to move far, far away from the Garrison. From Shiro.

He opens his messages from Hunk, feeling guilty as he scrolls down and sees how frantic his friend grew with each unanswered, unread text.

_shay made extra scones, lmk if u want some_  
_shiro called. hes worried. did u two fight?_  
_keith i know where u live_  
_hey mr. serial killer if ur reading this i know where u live_  
_if u have keith locked up u better let him out_  
_my boss knows capoeira_  
_i know it sounds like a delicious pastry but i assure its not_  
_shiro called again. He says u blocked him. Are u ok??_  
_pls tell me ur alright_  
_keith_  


_____ _

Keith unblocks Shiro’s number and hits call. To his immense relief, he’s sent to Shiro’s voicemail. When the tone sounds he clears his throat and says, “Hey, uh, it’s me. Keith. Sorry for worrying you. I’m just--I’ve been sick. My new roommate must’ve given me some kind of bug.” _Nice one, idiot, make him even more worried about you._ “Shiro, I . . . I-I’m really happy for you. I hope you and Roy enjoyed your trip. See you soon. So, uh. Yeah. Bye.”

He ends the call and curls up on his side, pressing his cheek against the cold wet metal bars of the bench. The past few weeks have taught him that no, wallowing around won’t make him feel better. It still feels like being stuck at the bottom of a deep well, like doing anything else is impossible, so why not stick to old habits, even if they make the pain worse?

In a way he thinks this must be a form of self-harm, that part of why he keeps holding out hope is because he knows it’s futile, that he will always be hurt in the end. That’s what his counselor in high school used to say, that he was self-destructive. Then he met Shiro, and everything-- _everything_ \--changed.

He never imagined that Shiro, that his feelings for Shiro, the very thing that used to bring him so much comfort and strength--would now be inflicting that pain, instead of helping him shoulder it. Could it even count as a betrayal when all of it was in his own head? His own fault for hoping, expecting, _demanding_ something more instead of being happy with what he had?

Kosmo comes back from exploring and sticks her nose in his ear, whining from the cold. Her breath puffs against his face. She looks into his eyes, full of joy just to be with him, and it’s enough to help him get back on his feet.

“I know, girl,” he says, clipping her leash back on her harness. “Let’s get you warmed up.”  


\-----

  
He eases the door openly as quietly as possible--which is hard, considering how old and creaky the damn place is--and sticks his head in the living room, straining his ears for any hint that Lotor and his guest might still be going at it. When all he can make out is the sound of the living room clock ticking away, he goes to the kitchen and pours out some food for Luna, then puts Lotor’s kettle on to boil.

He texts Hunk as he waits, apologizing for his radio silence. Hunk replies immediately.

_UR ALIVE!!! I LOVE U, STAY WARM, KISS KOSMO FOR ME  
I’LL BRING U FOOD IN THE MORNING_

Keith settles on the couch with his dog and a mug of tea, idly surfing through channels on Lotor’s tv. The next thing he knows, he’s awoken by a sudden, violent burst of shouts from upstairs.

“Don’t mind them,” Lotor says as he passes by in an oversized t shirt that reeks of sex and alpha musk, carrying a carton of orange juice and a piece of toast. “They’re always noisy on the weekends.”

Keith coughs, feeling stuffed up and scratchy in the back of his throat. Lotor takes a deep swig of the orange juice before setting it on the coffee table for him.

“You look like shit,” he says as Keith takes a gulp for himself. “Out late?”

Keith wipes his mouth with a glare. “Shut up.”

Lotor grins. A large, angry hickey is visible on the side of his neck opposite of the tattoo, partially hidden by his long hair. “Tell me, Keith, have you ever had sex before, or have you kept yourself pure and chaste for this Shiro guy?”

“Shut _up_.” Keith rubs at his eyes and blearily checks his texts again. “What time is it? Hunk’ll be by soon. He works at a bakery, said he’d bring us something.”

“You didn’t answer my question.” Lotor flops down beside him, licking the toast crumbs off his fingers. “What you need is to stop putting this one guy on a pedestal when there’s plenty out there to choose from.”

“What I need,” Keith says, scooting Kosmo over until she’s wedged in between them, “is _personal space_.”

Lotor snorts and plucks Keith’s phone out of his hand, leaning away when Keith tries to take it back. With his feet braced against Keith’s shoulders, keeping him at bay, he scrolls through the gallery. “Let me guess which one he is . . . not Hunk . . . not this one, he’s got funny ears . . . oh?”

Lotor sits up, a strand of hair sliding from its place behind his ear to curl against his cheek. Keith recognizes the hungry look in his eyes--it’s the same way omegas always look at Shiro, stunned and envious whenever they notice Keith by his side. Keith lunges again futilely, wishing he could get his phone back before Lotor gets any deeper into his folder of Shiro pictures.

Naturally, Lotor keeps looking until, with one plucked eyebrow raising up high, he stops on the only picture Keith has ever taken of Roy, at Shiro’s request.

Keith still remembers the day he took it. Ostensibly he, Shiro, and Roy were just going out on the town to grab lunch between classes. The outing only confirmed his suspicion that he was quickly becoming less Shiro’s best friend and more of a third wheel.

The worst part was that Keith was just as attentive as he always was to Keith, just as kind when he paid for everyone’s meal. Roy was gracious about it, which struck Keith as odd at the time, and disastrous after the fact, because why would an alpha let another alpha _do_ something like that for him under normal circumstances? 

At no point since meeting Roy did Shiro ever make Keith feel unwanted or unwelcome--this was something Keith did to himself, in his head, because he was too much of a coward to do what Roy had no qualms about doing when he asked Shiro out a week later.

“ _Oh_ ,” Lotor says softly, letting Keith snatch his phone away without any more teasing. The picture shows it all: Keith on Shiro’s right, Roy on Shiro’s left. Keith took the picture, so Roy is leaning in toward Shiro to make it into frame, but there wasn’t any reason for Shiro to lean back in Roy’s touch except . . .

Keith almost deleted it several times this past year. In a way the pain helped him stay grounded, as much as it made him feel like he was losing his mind. It was a continual reminder that Shiro was spoken for, like he’d been when Keith first met him.

“The only thing worse than an alpha,” Lotor says, “is two of them.”

“You’re the one who was just telling me to broaden my horizons,” Keith mumbles.

“I’m not talking about a relationship,” Lotor says, and he looks disgusted at the thought, “I mean going out and experiencing people. Trust me, you’re better of letting this be a clean break.”

“I guess.” Keith would rather die than even entertain a thought about life without Shiro; considering how his fireside chat with Hunk went last week, he decides to keep that sentiment to himself for now.

Lotor whips out his own phone and rests an elbow on Kosmo, scratching her between the shoulders at her indignant woof. “While we wait for your friend, let me show you some of my guys, see what you think.”

He hands his phone over and Keith scrolls through a wall of beta and alpha men without any interest. Even when he tries to force himself to take Hunk and Lotor’s advice, to fake it until he makes it, he feels nothing no matter how many bulging biceps and chiseled faces he skims past.

The only one who ends up catching his eye is a man with an undercut and a wicked, self-satisfied grin. And of course he would be one of the few nude ones, with his sizeable erection held in one hand, the waist of his sweatpants shimmied down to the middle of his thighs.

He looks athletic and cocky, with dark hair on his arms and chest, forming a bristly stripe down the center of his chest and abdomen, perma stubble on his jaw and the front of his throat. He’s Keith’s type, if Keith can say he has much of a type. “Looks like Shiro” is the best way to describe it, and this guy looks a bit like Shiro, before Shiro let his hair grow out, so yeah. Ding ding ding, he has a winner.

Beside him, Lotor _tsk_ s in a way that manages to be both approving and judgmental. “That’s Sniv, my piercer. Interesting choice. He’s a weasel but good with his hands. Want his number?”

“ _No_ ,” Keith says.

Lotor hums and takes his phone back, sending off a quick text. “Too bad,” he says in a lilting, sing-song voice that makes Keith want to punch him. “We’re going out for drinks tonight, and he and my guy are gonna be there, and we’re gonna get you _fucked up_. Unless you want to spend another week curled up in bed?”

Keith winces. He aches all over from spending so much time lying down, his only exercise being when he rolls from one side to the other. “Fine, whatever,” he says, feeling that if he tries to argue it will just make him even more tired. “Just drinks. Where the hell is Hunk?”

On cue, Kosmo shoots off the couch and pads to the door, whining softly just as a car door shuts outside. Keith opens the door to find Hunk laden down with a box of croissants, cinnamon rolls, and a drink caddy of coffee.

“Nice to see you too,” he grumbles when Keith takes the box, digging into the first warm sticky cinnamon roll he gets his hands on. Hunk shuts the door with his foot and presents a coffee to Lotor. “I didn’t know what you liked, so I got you the same thing as Keith. Iced double shot with extra sugar.”

“How adorable,” Lotor says, taking his drink and sipping it. He looks at Hunk with more interest than he had the other day. “Keith told me you’re a baker.”

“Yup.” Hunk settles himself on the beanbag chair across the coffee table from the couch, a new addition Lotor bought in retaliation when Keith wouldn’t go shopping with him. “I have an apprenticeship at a bakery near the Garrison. Shay’s Place.”

“Fascinating. Keith hasn’t told me what he’s studying.”

“Well, you haven’t told me what you do,” Keith points out defensively. So far it seems all Lotor does is party.

“Because you’ve been rolled up in a depression cocoon for a week,” Lotor says, unbothered.

Hunk pauses where he was pouring an extra sugar packet into his drink, looking at Keith with renewed concern.

“I’m doing fine, Hunk,” Keith says hastily. “Lotor’s dragging me out on the town tonight, making me get some air.”

“See, that’s why I’m worried,” Hunk says, his distrust blunt and bold. He’s been fidgeting ever since he came through the door, Keith notices, no doubt thanks to the heavy fucked-by-another-alpha musk clinging to Lotor like an overbearing cologne. And the fact he’s not wearing pants underneath his oversized shirt.

Lotor chuckles and uncrosses his legs, and yep, he’s not wearing underwear either. “I’m glad one of you has some sense,” he says coyly, and takes an unnecessarily long slurp of coffee.

  


\-----

  


Later that afternoon, as the sun begins to set, Lotor hauls Keith to his room and makes him sit on the bed while he digs through his closet. In contrast to the old apartment and the shabby, almost secondhand nature of his furnishings, his clothes are all fashionable and expensive, and way too form-fitting for Keith’s comfort.

He gets the feeling that if he tries to bow out now that Lotor will man handle him into submission--the other omega is taller than he is, and while slim he certainly isn’t petite the way Keith is--so he reluctantly lets Lotor pull up a pair of black leggings on him. He gasps at how tightly they constrict his legs and groin.

“Your ass is going to stretch them,” Lotor says critically. As as if to cheer Keith up, he adds, “Sniv will like that, though.”

“Won-der-ful,” Keith says, wishing he still had a shirt on so he could hide. He looks down at his groin and can see every outline of every muscle in his legs, not to mention the prominent bulge of his package. Keith is an average size for an omega, which is small compared to betas and alphas, and even then the pants feel like they’re compressing everything into the size of a pinhead.

In the end, he gets a red halter top, a denim overshirt, and a black coat to go with his leggings and heavy black boots.

Lotor dresses himself in a similar outfit yet, somehow, even more exposed than Keith, swapping the red shirt for indigo, then extracts Keith’s phone from the back pocket of his leggings.

“Okay, now let’s take a picture.”

“Why?”

“ _Why_?” Lotor repeats incredulously. “Why else do phones have cameras? To show off!”

He slaps Keith’s ass. Keith tries to kick him in the shin, to no avail. The leggings make it so hard to move.

“Honestly, no wonder you’re such a mess,” Lotor says as he pulls Keith in close, then holds the phone out, smiling for the camera. “Trust me, you’re going to show this Shiro guy what he’s missing out on _and_ get the best dick of your life. Well, only. Either way, two birds, one stone.”

“You said this Sniv guy was a weasel,” Keith mutters, feeling too exposed even with the denim shirt and coat on.

Lotor squints at their images on the phone, then gives a horrified gasp and says, “Fuck, I almost forgot!” He runs over to his vanity and grabs at a jewelry box, rummaging through it. “Take off your collar.”

“What? No!” Keith isn’t an idiot, he’s not going to a club without his omega collar on. It signals that he’s unclaimed, true, but that doesn’t mean it’s an invitation for some alpha to come along and try to change that; it’s a signal that he’s not interested, and he’s giving anyone easy access to his scent glands.

Then Lotor turns around, and Keith sees he’s holding another omega collar. Not much of a collar, really. A choker with a tiny red gemstone in the center. Symbolic rather than practical, like a bikini for his neck. Showing off almost everything while hiding just enough to arouse interest by omission.

Keith wants to protest, but as he looks at the choker and the little red stone, all he can think of is how it guaranteed it is to provoke any alpha who looks at him, in person or on Instagram, and suddenly the thought isn’t as unpleasant as it was just a moment ago. He lets Lotor thread the choker around his neck and clasp it into place under his hair, then Lotor brings up the phone again and starts snapping pictures.

“Anyway,” he says when he’s done, “I also said Sniv has a nice dick, and that’s what’s important right now.”

In every picture he looks effortlessly sexy, and Keith just looks like an underdressed jack-in-the-box that just sprang from the depths of heartbreak hell. He feels a complete disconnect looking at his own face in the pictures.

“Pick one and let’s go,” Lotor says impatiently, looping an arm around his shoulder and waiting with a huff. Keith opens his Instagram and chooses the picture that he thinks makes him look the least stupid, then stares a the blank caption, at a loss of what to write.

He’s never gone out to a club before and has never been the type to advertise what he does or where he goes on social media. The last time he even used Instagram was almost three months ago, after he gave Kosmo a bath.

“I don’t know, Lotor, this feels . . .” He tilts his head, but no matter how he squints, the face looking back in the picture isn’t _him_. He just looks ridiculous, primped up in Lotor’s clothes like a mannequin. “It’s just not me.”

"That,” Lotor says, taking the phone from him, “is the _point_.”

  


\-----

  
Keith’s phone buzzes nonstop during the car ride to the club. His back pocket feels like it’s completely melded to his ass, so he figures now is as good a time as any to try and go back to being a social media hermit.

He spent his week of isolation constantly hitting refresh on his friends’ pages, mostly Shiro’s just to gauge how the honeymoon was going after their fight. Shiro continued to post pictures of him and Roy as they visited landmarks around Tokyo and Kyoto. The most recent picture was from yesterday evening, a hostel near a temple.

Begrudgingly, Keith thinks not for the first time that Roy is a handsome devil, in a more rugged way than Shiro is. His long blond hair looks like it went out of style thirty years ago and yet, somehow, it works. His classic alpha looks are tempered by his sweet, golden retriever-like personality. Keith can just imagine him and Shiro becoming domestic, and wants to hurl.

“We’re here,” Lotor says as the Uber comes to a stop, swatting Keith’s thigh so he’ll move.

Keith clambers out of the car, standing on the curb so he can take in the street. He’s never been in this part of Plaht City before, and all the restaurants, boutique stores, and clubs are new to him. The neighborhood is packed with foot traffic. A slow-ride goes by on the street, carrying a group of loud drunk tourists belting along to a pop song. Everything that a country boy like Keith was raised to fear.

He feels Lotor’s hand at his back, not guiding so much as steering him through the crowd and down a few meters to a door wedged between restaurants, which a neon sign indicates is the entrance to an underground club. The bouncer admits them with a short, familiar nod to Lotor, and they descend into a pit of noise and flashing lights and sweating bodies.

Keith is grateful when Lotor stops by the bar first to order them drinks. He takes a large gulp of the cocktail the second it’s handed to him, spilling most of it down the side of his mouth.

“Hey, hey, easy,” Lotor says. He thumps his back, then pushes his thumb under the sleeves of Keith’s coat and denim shirt. Keith tries to jerk away, disliking such sudden, personal contact.

Lotor hangs tight, pressing more forcefully, massaging into the skin and tendons in slow circles. The relaxing effect of another omega scenting him calms Keith down faster than he anticipates, and once his hands stop shaking he’s able to take another, steadier sip of his drink.

“That’s better,” Lotor says, then turns his head to scour the dance floor. “So, you know what Sniv looks like. My guy, Hepta, is another alpha. He’ll be wearing a stupid hat.”

Keith pries his phone out of his back pocket while they wait, trying to block out all the noise. The page is still open to his Instagram post. To his dread, the picture has garnered a lot of attention not just from his friends, but friends of his friends. He expects Lance’s joke about how he and Lotor look like alternate reality versions of each other, and Allura’s heartfelt compliment on how pretty he looks. What he doesn’t expect is the lone smiley face emoji Shiro replied with.

Him and his fucking emojis.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shiro will finally make an appearance next chapter :3c


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> didn't feel like finishing this fic when season 8 came out but now it's been a week and my depression has morphed into a righteous fury to make sure shiro and keith get their happy ending and lots of dick along the way
> 
> also, i've made substantial edits to the previous two chapters that i think will help everything feel a little more solid!

Rain pattered against the library window. The storm had begun to subside over the course of the hour, and now Keith could just hear Shiro's steady, comforting voice through his headphones.

The tutoring session should have ended almost fifteen minutes ago. Finals were nigh and all the freshmen who weren't verging on tears as Shiro went back over any practice questions they needed help with looked as if they'd just given up the ghost entirely.

Keith recognized the blank, pained stares from his own time spent at tutoring, when Iverson’s class saddled him with a D for most of the semester. Shiro was the only student mentor to consistently draw a full crowd; the librarians had long since learned to reserve the largest computer lab for him on Fridays. Part of it could be attributed to how calm and thorough he was while explaining complex concepts, sure. 

Most of it was definitely just because he was tall and patient and well-dressed and muscular and--Keith’s brain skipped a beat--and bizarrely, his engagement last weekend just seemed to make him more attractive to a lot of students on campus.

If Keith had to hear one more dreamy sigh about how lucky Roy was to be the future Mr. Shirogane, he was going to lose it.

The girl at the computer to his right raised her hand. “Shiro, can you help me with this last problem?”

“Just a sec, Romelle,” Shiro said, flashing her a smile before turning back to the groaning boy he was in the middle of explaining the extreme value theorem to. 

Keith felt like putting his head through the computer as Romellel giggled, not sure whether he was more annoyed by or envious of her, that she wasn’t afraid of obviously crushing on Shiro despite knowing he was gay and very much taken. God, who was he kidding? He envied her.

Shiro’s engagement was a hot topic on campus this past week, as much a source of heartbreak as it was congratulations. Plenty of undergrads, gay and straight and otherwise, bombarded him with well wishes, not all of them genuine. Keith wasn't alone in being, as much as he hated to admit it, jealous of Roy.

Roy was an enigma at the Garrison. Rumors ran abound for the past year about the tall blond guy people saw picking up Shiro after classes sometimes, who started appearing in Shiro’s social media posts. No one knew where he came from. He was just suddenly there, always seen with Shiro.

Keith’s least favorite development in the past few months was a facebook group called #MulletWatch, formed originally to collect and discuss covertly taken pictures of him with Shiro around campus. Now all the pictures were of Roy, and where the group used to creep Keith out, now he just felt tossed aside and forgotten, used, because in the end none of the speculation about him as Shiro’s secret boyfriend actually ever mattered.

Since the engagement was announced on Instagram last weekend, Keith hadn’t had a chance to see Shiro in person until today, and his stomach twisted when he caught sight of the ring on Shiro’s finger as he finally came to the back row to help Romelle out.

He felt Shiro pat him on the shoulder and turned up the volume.

When the tutoring session finally wrapped up, Shiro had to practically beg all of his students to leave, politely yet firmly telling the few hopeful stragglers that he had an appointment to get to. 

When the last undergrad had sadly packed up their things and trudged out of the lab, Shiro sank down beside Keith in Romelle’s vacated seat and let out a weary chuckle. When he undid the two buttons of his henley Keith caught a glimpse of a hickey on his chest before he looked back up to Shiro’s face.

“Congrats,” Keith said, taking off his headphones. He held out his hand, because a good friend would want to look at the ring.

“Thanks,” Shiro said, his voice warm and bright despite the obvious exhaustion on his face, and Keith could have sworn that being engaged made him sound happier—that, or his anxiety was just fucking with him again.

Keith swallowed down a reply and settled for a half-grin that threatened to break apart immediately when Shiro held out his own hand for him to take.

“Oh, wow,” he said, leaning down so he could inspect the engagement ring. In person he could see the texture around the band he’d missed on the Instagram picture. 

It was designed to look like the craggy surface of a planet or moon. The flashy design stood out from Shiro’s normally plain, functional sense of fashion. Keith knew that if Shiro was ever going to splurge on something self-indulgent, it would be this.

“It’s called a Callisto ring,” Shiro said, grinning sheepishly as he withdrew his hand. “Roy found it online—I didn’t even know they made men’s rings that look like this.”

“It’s beautiful,” Keith said, and he meant it. Shiro looked so complete, so right with a ring on his finger. 

Looking at him radiate happiness with his entire being was infectious. For the first time since Roy came along—hell, even since way before then, if he was being honest—Keith felt like maybe he could accept letting Shiro go.

“So Roy and I were talking . . .” Shiro said, squeezing his right bicep with his left hand, like he always did when concentrating. “His sister wants to be maid of honor--well, her exact words were ‘best maid.’”

Keith smiled and nodded and raged on the inside, because he honestly couldn't recall what Roy's sister was even named.

“So I want you to be my best man.”

Keith’s breath left him in a stuttering gasp.

Shiro patted him on the shoulder again, then pulled him in for a tight hug with his left arm. “You're my brother, Keith,” he said. “I couldn't ask for a better best man.”  


\-----

  
_Oh, fuck that._

The music rattles through Keith’s body, pounding his brain to mush until he can’t hear or think. He can’t see where Lotor and Hepta disappeared into the crowd thrashing on the dance floor. As Sniv suckles on the side of his neck, one lean muscled arm slung possessively around his waist, Keith feels like at this point he doesn’t really care anymore.

Sniv is just as cocky and impressed with himself as his picture on Lotor’s phone would suggest. What the picture didn’t show is his pierced tongue; Keith feels the little barbell rub against his scent gland, tugging at the choker, and shivers. 

Like any alpha, Sniv’s scent has a visceral effect on him, from the buzzing in his head to the slickness welling between his thighs. One of Sniv’s hands wanders lower, rubbing just below Keith’s cock to dig a couple of long fingers into the wet spot of his slit, and Keith almost spills his drink.

“Um,” he says, and Sniv’s hand slides up the front of his abdomen. Keith doesn’t think they even introduced themselves to each other before Sniv started pawing all over him, and Keith honestly didn’t mind until now, when the music changes into something less skull-shattering and he can think again, remembering Shiro’s smiley face emoji. Keith rests against the bar, his elbow brushing against the black coat Sniv casually slipped off him earlier, and drinks some more water.

He feels Sniv’s hot gaze burning into him, eyefucking the boho choker Lotor put around him. Keith knows it’s just an outdated myth that alphas can tell by an omega’s scent if they’re a virgin or not--they can only tell if an omega’s been mated--yet he can’t help feeling pleasure at the thought of what Sniv sees him as, how Lotor might have pitched him. 

Twenty-year-old heartbroken virgin, an orphan with no prospects. Yeah, Lotor would've had his work cut out trying to make any of that sound desirable. Whatever he did or didn't say, Sniv was definitely hard against Keith's thigh either way.

Keith can’t remember a time when Shiro treated him as anything other than just a friend. His best friend, sure, but always with that definitive wall to separate them from most alpha-omega pairs. Before Roy came along, everyone at the Garrison assumed by natural consequence that Shiro and Keith were dating.

Sniv pulls open from Keith's neck just enough to order drinks, gesturing lazily for the bartender. His tongue piercing glints in the strobe lights, as do the multiple piercings in each ear, and the one in his left eyebrow that wasn’t there in the picture. 

It’s not hard for Keith to wonder if maybe he’s gotten any other new piercings since he sent a dick pic to Lotor, especially as he feels Sniv's hard-on grind against his leg. 

“Lotor says you're his new roommate,” Sniv says, feeling Keith rub back against his cock with a smirk. “How’s that been so far?”

Keith slides his denim shirt off and drops it on top of the black coat, feeling another dizzying rush of satisfaction when Sniv’s pupils dilate. “He’s alright. Pushy. It’s different. I used to live alone.”

“What, no boyfriend?” Sniv says, half-laughing in disbelief.

“No.”

“S’hard to believe.” His eyes glance down. Keith follows his gaze, seeing that his nipples are hard under the thin fabric of his halter top. Uncertainly, hoping it looks sexy rather than stupid, he cups the left side of his chest, biting down on his lower lip at the appreciative growl Sniv gives in response.

“I haven’t . . . really been interested in looking for one,” Keith says, hoping the waver in his voice doesn’t give him away. If Sniv doesn't know he's pining after Shiro, then he doesn't see a reason to bring it up now. It's not like they're going to start a relationship. Like Lotor said, this is just a one-off experience. No strings attached.

Sniv orders two Zaiforge sours and reaches out to slide a couple of fingers under Keith’s choker, huffing out a short laugh. “You sound exactly like him, y’know? Like Lotor. I get why he likes you.”

Keith isn’t sure how to take that, or what to do when Sniv moves his fingers underneath the choker until he’s touching the scent gland on the left side of his throat. 

Keith swallows, feeling the heightened sensation even before Sniv presses against the gland with any actual force. “H-how do you know him?” he asks, and fuck, his voice is shaking just as badly as his knees.

“Who do you think gave him his piercings?”

“What piercings?”

Sniv leans in close, so close that his stubble chafes against Keith’s jaw. “On his nipples,” he murmurs, and his hand roughly grabs the same tit Keith touched earlier, pinching his nipple between two fingers. Keith gasps. “You’ve seen his tattoo at least, yeah? Hepta did it.”

“Yeah, I've seen it,” Keith says weakly, unable to enjoy the touch as much as he wants to. He wants to let Sniv go further, touch him more, but he feels too exposed here at the bar, letting an alpha scent him while dry humping his leg.

Considering some of the action going on out on the dance floor, no doubt with Lotor at the center of it somewhere in the throbbing mass of bodies, maybe he shouldn’t be so self-conscious. “Is there, like, a booth or--or somewhere more private we can go?”

“Lotor always reserves a lounge, it’s practically his second apartment. C’mon,” Sniv purrs. He helps Keith put his denim shirt back on, then drapes the black coat around him. 

His hands never leave Keith’s waist as he guides Keith through the crowd to one of the private lounges. He’s short for an alpha, only a couple of inches taller than Keith, and still people fall out of his way in recognition and deference. 

He must be a regular face, because several people call out to him, whooping and jeering appreciatively when they see Keith at his side. Maybe it’s the alcohol or the hormones, because instead of overwhelming Keith and making him see what a stupid idea all this is, it gives him courage as Sniv holds open the door to the lounge for him, teeth still bared in a wolfish grin  


\-----

  
The lounge is big enough to seat twenty people, maybe more, and feels too empty with just the two of them. Sniv orders more drinks from a waitress who stops by, then settles comfortable on one of the long booths, patting the tops of his thighs expectantly.

It isn't a secret why they came here; Keith knew what he was getting into as soon as he asked to go somewhere private, as soon as he let Lotor dress him up in this slutty choker. And still he hesitates for a moment. Still he can only think about Shiro.

“You good?” Sniv asks.

“Yeah,” Keith says, hands sweaty and shaky where they hang clenched at his sides, “yeah, I'm good.”

He sits beside Sniv and, after a moment of hesitation, slings a leg over his lap. Sniv laughs and drags him the rest of the way so they’re facing one another. Then his pierced tongue is at Keith’s throat again, sucking at his scent gland. 

The sensation sets off an untapped primal instinct somewhere in Keith that only ever comes out during his heat, the few times he’s let himself go into it over the past couple of years. He started suppressing it when he realized just how much intensified his need to have Shiro, not just any alpha, at his side to help him bear it.

Just as easily as he helped Keith put his coat and shirt back on, Sniv strips them off again--good with his hands, just like Lotor warned him--and pushes Keith down on his back. He pulls the red halter top off, Keith feels so hot even though he’s so exposed, and Sniv’s tongue is warm and wet as he sucks at Keith’s nipples.

He grabs at Sniv’s head, digging his fingers through the shaved sides of his undercut until they run through the longer black locks, and from this angle, with his face hidden against Keith’s heaving chest, he looks just a bit like Shiro, even though the scent is all wrong, and Keith shudders as he comes, feeling the slick seep through the seat of his leggings.

“Fuck,” Sniv says, growling low and throaty. He jerks his head up out of Keith’s grasp, eyes wide and burning and ravenous. He smells like too much liquor and swagger, everything Shiro isn’t except in Keith’s most heat-addles fantasies.

Keith tries to tug off his wet leggings with uncoordinated, impatient hands, whining in relief when Sniv slaps his hand aside and pulls them off for him in one strong tug.

Keith swears he can see stars when Sniv pushes his legs apart and licks along his cock before going down further to his cunt. The knob of his piercing probing against his sensitive folds is a strange new feeling, completely unlike when Keith uses his own fingers or the modest dildo he keeps stashed in the bottom drawer of his dresser.

It hits him then, that he’s letting a stranger lick and suck at him while his large, rough hands hold Keith down at the hips, and his mind can’t decide if he should feel free or guilty, if it’s a good or bad thing that he’s so inexperienced from spending years of his life pining after Shiro that he never imagined himself here, with some other guy pushing two fingers alongside his tongue into him at a club.

Keith is spared from navel-gazing too hard when the door crashes opens and Lotor stumbles into the lounge, pulling Hepta along by the front of his jacket, his hat long gone. Lotor shakes his head, so his long white hair catches the colored strobe lights from the dance floor.

“Hey Lotor,” Sniv says, coming up for air, “show Keith your piercings.”

“He’s seen ‘em,” Lotor says, gnashing his teeth when Hepta shoves him down on the seat by Keith.

Keith tries to sit up, struggling to parse his week of rooming with Lotor, because he’s pretty sure he hasn’t—unless it was on that first night on the couch, which is still a hazy blur. 

Lotor strips off his top anyway and, upside down, Keith can see a small crescent in each of Lotor’s nipples. He flashes Keith a drunken grin and says, “Jealous?”

Keith has never thought about getting a piercing or tattoo until now, and the thought has him groaning as he clenches around Sniv’s fingers as he imagines then gloved and driving a needle through a sensitive part of him, be it a nipple or his navel or maybe somewhere lower.

“He's fuckin’ gushing,” Sniv says, before he probes his tongue back in Keith's cunt, and Keith can feel the amount of slick he's leaking for himself

“Then I’ll take that as a yes,” Lotor says smugly, and unzips Hepta’s jeans.

In the end, Keith loses his virginity at Club Daibazaal while he fantasizes that it’s Shiro who fucks into him with a thick, pierced cock, Shiro nips at the scent glands on the side of his neck through the delicately woven choker, Shiro who snarls as his knot swells and fills Keith up until the stretch is too painful to bear.

Sniv smells like whiskey and sandalwood, and every time Keith breathes it in, his body begs for more while his mind is ripped out of the fantasy.

“Fuck, baby,” Sniv groans as Keith sinks his teeth into the meat of his shoulder, “fuck, you have such a tight cunt. So pretty and tight, squeezing my knot.”

“Well, anyone's gotta be tighter than Lotor,” Keith hears Hepta say, followed by a sharp yelp. “Christ, Lotor, take a joke!”

Keith opens an eye, unwilling to separate himself from the drowsy contentment Sniv's pheromones lull him into while his come continues to pump into him. Lotor’s on his knees on the floor, chest pressed against the lounge seat, while Hepta crouches low behind him and drives into him with short, hard thrusts. One of Hepta's hands has a ring of teeth marks on the backside of his thumb.

Lotor’s dark face is flushed and dripping sweat as it twists with the sensation, never straying far from a smile. His eyes flutter open, notice Keith staring, and he leans over and plants a wet, open-mouthed kiss on Keith's lips, shaking from the force of Hepta's last thrust. They moan in unison, and Lotor pants against Keith's cheek as Hepta knots him in turn.

“So,” Lotor says in a raw voice, “what do you think, Keith?”  


\-----

  
Keith takes an hour-long bath when they get back to the apartment. First he uses the shower head and a half-bottle of juniberry body gel to rinse and scrub himself clean. All of the sweat, the slick, the come, over and over until his skin tingles and he can fill the tub without worrying about stewing in his own fluids.

“Here's some pajamas,” Lotor says, his silhouette dark against the translucent shower curtain. Even the juniberry fragrance can't block out how much he reeks.

Keith sinks under the water and finds himself unable to not think back to the sight of Sniv fucking Lotor right after Hepta. It was just the pheromones during their tie that made him feel so comfortable, and so at a loss when Sniv left him the second he was physically able. Keith touches his slit carefully, hissing at how sore and puffy he feels. It's like the first couple of times he used his dildo only worse, because his dildo doesn't have a knot and he's never taken anything that size before.

Lotor doesn't leave. He hangs around on the other side of the curtain at Keith's lack of a response.

“You alive in there?” he asks, as if he doesn't stink of the alpha who tossed Keith aside.

“The fuck was that about, Lotor?”

The curtain pulls aside, and Lotor stands there in the nude, covered in fresh hickies and drying come on his muscled stomach. He doesn't look mad at Keith's harsh tone. Frustratingly, he looks amused as ever.

“Keith, it's almost cute how easily you get jealous,” he says. “But I wasn't playing matchmaker. Hepta and Sniv aren't interested in anything but meeting up for a fuck sometimes.”

“I know. I know.” Keith sinks even lower until his mouth is under the surface of the water, and his breath bubbles angrily.

“Don't think about it too hard. Sniv texted me that you forgot your underwear,” Lotor says, and Keith really wants to put him in a scarf hold that would do Kolivan proud. “He’ll be by in the morning, if you really want to see him again.”

“Fuck you.”

Lotor’s cackle follows him all the way out the door.

It’s past dawn when Keith collapses on his mattress in a fresh pair of boxers. Kosmo settles down beside him and rests her heavy head on his chest, content as he cards his fingers through her fur. He sleeps poorly, jerking awake every so often as the sun rises and Kosmo moves around, jumping off the mattress to get a toy, then curling back up next to him and squeaking away.

Just as he resolves to take the toy away so he can get some sleep, she sits bolt upright and begins to bark in loud, sharp boofs.

“Shhh, Kosmo, shhh…” he groans. He goes to check what time it is on his phone and sees that it’s dead, the charger falling away loosely when he picks it up. “It’s okay, girl.”

Kosmo hops off the mattress and charges off to the front door, still barking. Keith feels around for one of the discarded shirts hidden in his sheets and gives up when it takes too long. Sniv kissed and licked all over him just a few hours ago, no point in trying to make himself presentable this late in the game.

Keith unlatches the chain lock and holds Kosmo back with a leg as he opens the door. “Hey, sorry about her, she’s--” and looks up expecting to see Sniv’s shit-eating face.

Shiro stares back at him, bundled in a bomber jacket and holding a large paper bag in his hand. Kosmo scrambles past Keith and sticks her snout in the bag, tail wagging so hard she hits Keith’s bare legs and reminds him of just how naked and debauched he is right now.

Shiro’s scent has changed since the wedding, not as drastically as it would if he mated an omega, but enough that it cuts through the lingering notes of juniberry blossoms.

“Hey,” Shiro says, “sorry, I tried calling, I . . . can I come in?”

A lump sits stubbornly in Keith’s throat as he says, “Yeah, sure. Sure. Good to see you.”


	4. Chapter 4

“I tried calling you,” Shiro says for the fourth or fifth time as Keith brings him a leftover croissant and a mug of coffee from the kitchen. He keeps his eyes on Kosmo, who’s piled in his lap and happily chewing on the new dog toy he brought for her.

Shiro smells like a new man, his scent almost completely different from what Keith has always known since the first time they met, all those years ago. Keith doesn’t know what kind of physiological changes happen after a mating bonds between two alphas is established; maybe this is just the beginning of even more to come. Keith just hopes Shiro doesn’t try to grow out an ugly goatee like he did last semester during finals week.

“My phone’s dead,” Keith says as he sets the mug and plate of stale croissants on the coffee table, scooting side Shiro’s paper gift bags with his elbow. “I was, uh...out late.”

He’s relieved when Shiro takes a croissant and eats it slowly, taking small bites, as if a three-day-old croissant is worth savoring, just to avoid responding. 

Keith knows what he must look like, in nothing but his briefs and covered in hickeys and the scent of a strange alpha. He’d checked in the tiny magnetic mirror on the fridge and confirmed that he’s absolutely debauched, and smells like it too. The way Sniv’s scent overlaps with his is different than that of a mated pair, incongruous and fighting for dominance. In this case, Sniv’s is definitely winning.

“I got your message,” Shiro says after he chases down the croissant with some coffee, finally looking up from Kosmo. He looks tired and strained, most likely from the jet lag, but Keith’s anxiety is always happy to make it his fault somehow. “I’m sorry I lose my temper when I called you, Keith. It’s just--I was out of the country, and I didn’t know what was going on, and I was afraid. This isn’t like you.”

“I just needed a change.”

“From me?”

Keith wants to lie, and knows that he couldn’t even if his reaction wasn’t obvious enough for Shiro to see he’d struck the nail on the head. He can’t get his thoughts to form coherent words, to explain everything that had led to him throwing away most of his life.

“I know my relationship with Roy has been hard on you,” Shiro says, because of course he would have noticed how much Keith hated it whenever Roy joined them for lunch, or slung an arm around Shiro’s shoulders while they walked together, or when Shiro started hanging out with their friends less so he could make time for more date nights. “I was afraid you thought I was abandoning you. And I’m not. You’re my family just as much as Roy is.”

“I know,” Keith says miserably, because he knows he isn’t, as sincerely Shiro might think otherwise. There is a hierarchy between being someone’s mate and being someone’s best friend who might be like a brother but isn’t, because Shiro has an actual brother and Ryou doesn’t depend on him the same way Keith does.

“You feeling any better?” Shiro goes on, glancing down as he tugs Kosmo’s toy away and she playfully growls as she hangs onto it, looking up at Keith with round expectant eyes.

Keith reaches for the toy, then tickles her along the neck instead. Grinning for a second, he remembers that he was supposed to be sick and fakes a cough. “Oh, y-yeah, I’m fine. It was just the crud from my roommate.”

“You guys getting along? What’s he like?”

Keith can still feel Lotor’s tongue plunging in his mouth from when they kissed in the lounge the previous night, and reaches for a croissant himself. “Oh, yeah, well, y’know,” he says, voice cracking, high and unconvincing, “he’s, uh--he’s different.”

“I can tell,” Shiro says mildly, sipping at his coffee, and Keith laughs into Kosmo’s back. Just as much as he smells like Sniv, Lotor’s apartment smells like a handful of alphas and betas who must be regular visitors. In fairness to Lotor, whether he sleeps with them isn’t any of Keith’s business--as long as he gives a heads up the next time.

“So how was your trip?” Keith asks, taking one of the paper bags and sifting through the tissue paper. The name tag indicates it’s for him. The other one is for Lotor. Of course, he thinks. Of course Shiro would be kind enough to get his new roommate a gift too. “What’s Ryou been up to?”

“He’s still working on his thesis. And no peeking,” Shiro chides. His wedding ring glints as he takes the bag by the handle and sets it in his lap, in the small bit of room where Kosmo isn’t piled on him. “I wanted to give you your Christmas present now. I can’t make it to Lance’s party this year.”

“You can’t?” Keith says, surprised. They’ve all met up for Lance’s Christmas party for six years straight.

“No. That’s why I’m trying to get everyone’s gifts to them today, since our flight is at three.” With that, Shiro pushes up the sleeve of his jacket to check his watch and winces. He moves the bag back to the coffee table and stands up. “In fact, I should head out now so I can pick him up.”

“But it’s still before noon, you’ve got plenty of time.” Keith’s stomach sinks. They’ve barely had ten minutes to talk to each other one-on-on in months. He thought that after the wedding things would settle down.

“It’s a quarter after two, Keith,” Shiro says. “I tried calling so I could come by earlier but . . .” He smiles apologetically and gives Kosmo one last scritch behind the ears. “A few of Roy’s cousins want us to spend Christmas with them since they couldn’t make the wedding. His cousin Rick was really upset about not getting to be there.”

“Yeah, sure, I understand.” It’s Keith’s own fault for agreeing to stay out late fucking a stranger, after all. He blinks, trying to keep his cool like he did to make it through the bachelor party and the wedding. He wonders at what point in Shiro’s relationship with Roy will he ever stop waiting for things to return to normal and accept that this is the new normal, and if it’ll ever stop feeling like he’s been replaced. “Let me get a jacket on, I’ll walk you out.”

He digs through one of his cardboard boxes to find a pair of pajama bottoms and pulls on a shirt and his jacket, remembering too late that it’s actually Shiro’s and oh god what will Shiro think and shit he can’t take too long because it shouldn’t be a big deal to just walk Shiro to his car. 

He jams his feet into a pair of Lotor’s shoes by the doorway. “Thanks for the gift,” he says, unlocking the door. “I wish I had one for you, I honestly just haven’t even thought about shopping yet.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Shiro says, holding out an arm. Keith falls into the hug desperately, tucking his cheek against the shearling collar and breathing in his scent, wanting it to rub off on him as much as possible to get rid of Sniv’s. He feels relieved when Shiro scents him back, sniffing at his hair. “New shampoo?”

“Nah, it’s Lotor’s,” Keith says, snuggling close. “You like it?”

“Yeah.” Shiro’s voice is so warm and comforting in his ear, just like old times. His hands are so large and firm against Keith’s waist. “It suits you.”

On the couch, Kosmo sits bolt upright, then dashes over to them to bark at the door. Keith breaks apart from Shiro to shush her. Behind him, the door opens and a familiar scent greets him when he looks over his shoulder, stomach sinking.

Sniv stands in the doorframe, clearly taken aback as he and Shiro look each other up and down, as tense as Kosmo when she falls into a wary stance. Keith can imagine the proverbial lightning crackle between them as the awkward silence drags on and the only thing that changes is the dilation of their pupils, the way their nostrils flare. Shiro’s always been a friendly guy, never one to turn down affectionate touches or hugs even with new people; he keeps his arms at his side until he turns his head to look at Keith, at which point he crosses his arms.

“Be seeing you, Keith,” he says, even though he won’t meet Keith’s eyes again. He brushes past Sniv and goes down the steps and the front walk, out to his car.

Keith can’t even watch him drive off from the porch in wistful, lovelorn solitude, because Sniv continues to stand beside him the whole time, holding a neatly washed and folded pair of panties. Lotor’s panties, sure, but ones that Sniv pulled off of _him_ last night.

He stiffens when Sniv pats him on the shoulder and growls out a warning that Sniv ignores.

“Oh, baby,” Sniv says. “You and Lotor are peas in a fucking pod.”

“It’s none of your business.”

“It is when your boyfriend looks like he wants to strangle me ‘cause you smell like me. Been there, done that. Never again.” Sniv twirls the panties around a finger and heads inside. “I was gonna come by earlier but your phone was off and Lotor doesn’t like it when I drop by while he’s working. He still busy?”

Keith follows him and kicks off the shoes, leaving them in a lopsided pile to pad barefooted across the living room, following Sniv instinctively as he goes to the entrance of the hall and stops. “Fuck,” Sniv says under his breath, “he’s still working.”

Keith peers after him to see that Lotor’s bedroom is open, but the door to his spare room is closed as usual. A “DO NOT DISTURB” sign is hung on the knob, with a yellow sticky note dangling from it. Squinting, he can just make out the words, “That means you, Sniv.”

“I walked in on one of his sessions one time and his viewers spammed him for days asking when I’d be on the show. He fuckin’ hated that.” Sniv retreats to the couch, cautiously sitting down on the opposite end from where Kosmo has settled back down.

“What show?” Keith asks, suspicious and curious in spite of himself. He wants to tell Sniv to go now that he’s done what he came for. Instead he sits down next to him, between him and Kosmo, and pulls his knees up to his chest.

“He didn’t tell you?” Sniv says incredulously. “He’s a camboy.”

“Oh. Well that fi--” Keith stops himself, feeling guilty for making assumptions.

“It figures, yeah, of course it does. He loves it. And he’d be mad if he thought you don’t support and validate his life choices.”

“It’s none of my business,” Keith says, shrugging. “What he does is up to him.”

Sniv laughs and slings an arm around him. “Don’t tell me you forgot last night already. He’s making it your business, baby.”

“Don’t call me baby.”

“Why not? You know he won’t call you it.” Sniv holds up his left hand and taps at the ring finger.

Keith glares at Sniv’s stupid fringe of longer hair and runs a hand through the short trimmed sides, remembering all the times he’d wanted to touch Shiro’s undercut when he had one. All of this was a mistake. The move, going out with Lotor, fucking Sniv and, from the way Sniv’s scent takes on an enticing smoky quality, fucking him a second time. But it’s the only pathetic option available to him now, and he’s just tired of turning his nose and sucking it up and pretending that he’s fine that Shiro’s fine without him.

He lets Sniv scoop him up in his strong, muscular arms and carry him to his room.

  


\-----

  


Sniv shuts the door behind them with his foot and drops Keith onto the mattress, and lets out a low whistle as he sinks to his knees beside him. “Fuck, this is depressing,” he says, looking around at the bare drab walls and the half-unpacked cardboard boxes. “This is your nest?”

“No,” Keith says, and in all honesty he means it. Two weeks in and his new apartment doesn’t feel like his yet, and he hasn’t been able to spare any energy into trying to make it feel more comfortable. Considering he’s brought a stranger to his bed, maybe it was a good thing after all.

Sniv shrugs and pulls his sweater off, his undershirt riding up on his tight, sculpted abs. He puts a knee between Keith’s legs and grinning at the hickeys on Keith’s chest. “Pretty sexy of you to strut around looking like that,” he says with a purr. “Looks to me like you want to get your married friend all hot and bothered. Lotor teach you that move?”

Keith grabs his head and pulls him down for a sharp, unskilled kiss. He just wants to forget about Shiro for a minute, not have him constantly rubbed in his face. He pulls back, looking up at Sniv’s surprised expression in frustration. “Are you gonna keep talking or are you gonna fuck me?” he asks roughly.

Sniv kisses his hand, then moves his lips to the inside of his wrist. Keith expects him to make another smart remark. Instead, Sniv ghosts along the scent gland, then settles on top of him, nipping at the scent gland on his throat. Keith fights to breathe normally as the still-new sensation jolts through him.

“Wait,” he mumbles as Sniv nips at the sensitive skin, “wait, my collar-- _fuck_.” He groans, chewing on his lip as Sniv bites him, just above the scent gland. “Fuck, don’t--don’t do that again.”

“You sure?” Sniv says, teasing his knuckles along Keith’s cock through his pajama pants, then tugging them and his briefs down by the waistband. The scent of his own slick hits Keith, sweet and thick like honey.

“D-don’t,” Keith repeats weakly, as Sniv ducks his head down to kiss at his nipple, then his navel, until he licks at the head of his cock and presses two fingers against his slit, not quite entering him but teasing him with the pressure. Keith spreads his legs so Sniv can settle between them more comfortably and lets his head fall back on the pillow, arching up into the touch.

He wants to watch Sniv as his head bobs up and down on his cock, wants to watch his fingers when they push into him agonizingly slow only to pull back out, then push into him again with a gentle, frustrating pace so unlike the furious impatience from last night. Instead he keeps his gaze on the ceiling, trying not to look at Sniv’s dark hair or muscles, because he knows if he does he’ll think of--

“Aah, w-wait,” he pants when Sniv licks down the shaft of his cock to flick his tongue against the spread lips of his cunt. “Don’t--don’t-- _fuck_!” He feels the slick gush from him, slipping around Sniv’s knuckles and his warm tongue as he probes it in alongside his fingers, then sucks at his cock again.

“Ease up, baby,” Sniv says, raising his head so Keith is forced to look at the spit and slick on his lip, which he licks at with his pierced tongue. “You’re grabbing at my shoulders too hard. Here, switch with me.”

Sniv pulls him up and lays down in his place. When Keith moves to settle on him, he says, “No, no, the other way. Sixty-nine.”

“What?”

“It’s when you--”

“I know what it _is_ ,” Keith says, feeling his body temperature rise faster than one of Hunk’s souffles, “I just--I’ve never--”

“It’s a blowjob, not brain surgery. C’mon.” Sniv pats his chest. “Show me that tight little ass.”

Keith straddles his waist in reverse before he can talk himself out of it, and touches the front of Sniv’s jeans with trepidation. His cock is obviously erect through the denim, and when Keith unbuttons and unzips them he feels himself twitch in response to the scent. He pulls Sniv’s thick cock free from his underwear and holds it loosely in his hand, having flashbacks of all his past attempts to practice fellatio on his woefully undersized dildo.

Sniv’s stubble chafes against the inside of his thighs as he nips at the skin there, canting up his hips and cock. He laps at Keith’s cunt harder, working his tongue more purposefully, and Keith can barely concentrate on what to do with his own mouth. He opts to lick cautiously at the head, then takes it in his mouth, minding his teeth.

He yelps when he feels Sniv kiss at his balls, and his cock pops free with a sticky mess. Keith feels himself present, pressing his shoulders and chest down and sticking his ass up further so the alpha can have easier access. Shame burns through him as much as pleasure, and he fights to just let himself go, to enjoy it instead of beating himself up about it. He licks at Sniv’s shaft again, down to the base where his knot will swell during a tie.

Being knotted felt incredible--none of the sex ed at school or porn Keith has ever watched ever made him truly understand how gratifying the rush of hormones during a tie was, how the feel of come filling him sated a primal urge he hadn't realized was there until Sniv pulled out of him and switched to Lotor. After so many years of pining, it had felt so good to have that need reciprocated, even if it was just a chemical reaction in his brain.

“Please,” Keith whines, moving away from the alpha’s persistent tongue, “enough, please, I--just fuck me already.”

“Seems to me you want more than that.” Sniv slaps the right side of his ass and sits up, coaxing Keith forward on his elbows and knees. Keith shudders when Sniv rubs his cock up against his slit, pushing it through the mess of slick dripping down his thighs, teasing against his pussy with the pierced head. “You might be on suppressants, baby, but I can tell you’re in heat.”

“Wh-what?” Keith tries to look over his shoulder and yelps when Sniv shoves his head down, pressing his cheek against the mattress and digging his fingers into his hair. He stopped keep track of time weeks ago, only remembering to eat and take his pills by memory. He tries to think of the date, pulse thudding as he realizes that Sniv’s _right_. If today is the day he thinks he is, he’s on what would be the third day of his cycle if he was off suppressants. “How do you know that?”

“The drugs might _suppress_ your heat, but they don’t hide it completely. I bet your friend could smell it, too.”

Keith can’t stop the whimper that leaves him at the thought, or the shuddering wave of slick that drips down his leg. The whimper turns into a low, ragged keen when Sniv presses into him, rougher than he was with his fingers, and fucks him with shallow strokes, pinning him down against the mattress. He keeps a hand locked around Keith’s wrists, preventing him from hiding his moans or the sharp, loud yelps when his thrusts grow rougher, meaner.

“See, this is what you really need, Keith,” Sniv growls, his words ringing with the gravelly alpha register that has Keith desperately writhing to free his hands so he can touch himself. “You’re a sweet little thing--all you want is an alpha to claim you and put a pup in you, is that it?”

Keith screams against the mattress as he comes, spasming around Sniv’s cock as it shoves into him mercilessly, the piercings dragging against his insides as Sniv pulls out just a bit before grinding back into him. His cock quivers, hanging free and untouched between his legs, and his cunt clenches around a knot that hasn’t yet formed. Sniv laughs and lightens his grip on Keith’s hair, letting him breathe for a precious moment before jerking his head back, pulling him flush against his hairy chest, letting go of his hands to stroke at Keith’s oversensitive cock.

“Stop,” Keith whimpers as Sniv’s thumb flicks against the sore head of his cock, “stop, stop, hurts, it _hurts_ \--”

“Taking my knot hurt, didn’t it? But you still liked it, right?”

Keith’s head lolls back against the alpha’s shoulder, eyes squeezed tight, because even though he’s overwhelmed and a little afraid of the stimulation, it’s also exciting. He breathes in through his nose as Sniv’s pace obligingly lets up, and he fucks into Keith with slow rolls of his hips, nibbling at his earlobe.

“He doesn’t know what he’s missing,” Sniv mutters. “You’re fucking gorgeous, squeezing me like a good bitch.”

“I-I’m not a--” Keith moans, grinding back against Sniv as he feels the beginnings of his knot start to catch, “n-not a--bitch--”

“There’s nothing wrong with it, baby.” Sniv licks at the scent gland on the side of his neck, then nips at it gently, lapping at the aching skin. “And that’s all you want to be, isn’t it? To be stuffed and knotted?”

Keith’s mouth opens, widening with a silent scream as Sniv picks up the pace and his swelling knot hurts as it pops in and out of him, then catches for good. Sniv grunts as he grips Keith by the hips, keeping him in place as he grinds into him as he comes, panting heavily against the back of Keith’s shoulder.

“Ffffuck,” Sniv groans, the sound turning into a breathless laugh as Keith whines, coming for a second time, “ _fuck_ , Keith. Just like that. Take it all in. Good boy.”

Keith feels heavy and limp as he catches his breath, his foggy mind dimly aware of the pulse of Sniv’s cock inside him and the periodic gush of come. He lets Sniv guide them onto their sides on the mattress, too limp and drowsy to do anything but lie there as his breathing normalizes and Sniv works a new hickey onto the side of his neck.

Being knotted feels so much better now that he gets to enjoy the entire tie, without fear of Sniv leaving too early, before his body has had a chance to come down from the high. Keith snuggles back against his sweaty chest, hardly aware of the insistent keening he makes until Sniv kisses him, slipping his tongue into his mouth. Keith relishes his body heat, his scent, and the burn inside of him as Sniv’s knot locks them firmly together. All the fantasies he’s had during heat have finally been realized, and as Sniv pulls away Keith worries that now it’s not enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been slow going on this fic for me even though I'm really eager to work on it, because thinking about Voltron and these characters still makes me so, so sad. Idk how long it will take to move on from how much season 8 hurts. On the semi-bright side, it's provided a lot of reference for how Keith must be feeling because hooooo boy.
> 
> As always, thank you so much for reading! We'll be getting to the surrogacy part of the story very soon. I guess I tagged this with "slow burn" for a reason :B


	5. Chapter 5

“Oh, you have got to be kidding me,” Lotor’s voice says, muffled through the door. Keith blinks, confused as the door bangs open and footsteps pound against the floorboards. “Keith, what the fuck is this?”

Beside him, Sniv grumbles in his sleep, then continues snoring against Keith’s shoulder blades. Keith sits up, head spinning, and tries to orient himself enough to see what Lotor is mad about. He’s only further confused when he sees that the only thing Lotor has in his hands is the gift bag from Shiro.

“Merry Chrysler,” Keith says.

Lotor throws the bag down on the floor, startling Sniv awake with a jerk. “Tell your knothead friend that I don’t need his fucking charity,” he snarls. He shoves a foot against Sniv’s ass. “Get out, Sniv.”

“Jesus, okay, okay,” Sniv mumbles, rolling away from Keith, eyes still squeezed shut. “Five more minutes.”

“ _Now_.”

Sniv’s eyes open partially, bloodshot and venomous, and whatever afterglow there was dissipates. Keith pulls the bedsheets up around him, unsure of what else he can do other than watch as Sniv unsteadily gathers his scattered clothes and gets dressed, all under Lotor’s watchful stink eye. As he moves to step through the door Lotor shoves him by the chest.

“You think you’re funny?” Lotor asks, ignoring Keith’s shocked expression. “You think you’re _funny_ for fucking around with Keith after what you did?”

“I dunno, Lotor, it’s hard to laugh when I’m not in on the joke.”

“I’m talking about the fucking picture you left in my room, Sniv!” Lotor’s scent grows acrid and bitter, cutting through the mating pheromones like a toxin. Keith feels frozen in place, unsure what he can do when Lotor’s shaking and tears start dripping down his cheeks, and he doesn’t know why. Lotor’s voice trembles. “Get out.”

“Lotor, sweetheart--”

“Get the fuck _out_!”

Sniv pushes past him without another word, and moments later the front door slams hard enough to rattle the other doors in the apartment. A few moments of silence pass, then a violent thumping from upstairs starts up. Lotor glares up at the ceiling, then redirects his anger to Keith.

“You hear what I said?” he says, bending down to pick up Shiro’s gift from the floor and throwing it at Keith. “Tell your friend to leave me the fuck alone.”

“Lotor, it’s just a Christmas present--he was trying to be nice--”

“If I want an alpha to be _nice_ to me, I’ll fucking ask. And don’t let me catch Sniv here again. If you want to fuck him you can do it at the club.”

“Lotor,” Keith says, picking up the crumpled bag from Shiro and smoothing out the torn nametag, “what’s going on? Why are you so mad?”

“None of your goddamn business, Kogane!” Lotor shouts.

“Hey, you’re the one who made me go to the fucking club with you. Don’t take your shit out on me, and don’t take it out on Shiro!” Keith snarls, sliding off his mattress and springing to his feet. _Don’t lose your temper, count to ten, easy breaths._ All the anger management techniques Kolivan has tried to teach him went down the drain the minute Lotor insulted Shiro. “What the fuck’s your problem?”

To his surprise, the tears start pouring down Lotor’s face and he says, his voice small and cracked, “Just leave me alone,” and walks away. Again the front door slams closed, and the thumping from upstairs responds angrily. Keith collapses back on the mattress, sore and completely fucking lost.

His cell phone rings and he reaches for it out of habit.

“Yeah?” he says dully, not even sure who’s calling him.

“Heya, Keith, it’s me,” Hunk’s chipper voice greets him. “”Sooo, I was thinking that you probably haven’t started Christmas shopping yet--also Shiro told me you hadn’t--and I was wondering if you’d like to come help me bake some cookies the day after tomorrow for the party, and they can be from the both of us. Does that sound good?”

“Sure. Sure, yeah that . . . good.”

“Hey, is everything okay? What’s wrong?”

“I honestly don’t know,” Keith says. “Actually, can you come pick me up? Can I spend the night?”

“What happened?” Hunk asks sharply. “Did Lotor do something to you?”

“No?” Keith sighs, rubbing at his sore chest. “It’s complicated. I’ll explain later.”

“I’ll be right there.”

After a quick shower, Keith debates whether he should pack a bag, and figures there’s no point. He has so few clothes that if he takes anything with him, Lotor might think he’s moving out. He gets dressed, bundles both of Shiro’s gift bags under his arm, clips on Kosmo’s leash, then waits outside on the swinging bench on the front porch, looking up and down the sidewalk to see if Lotor’s car is coming back to the apartment. Half an hour later, Hunk’s truck rumbles up to the curb.

“Is everything alright?” Hunk asks as Keith lets Kosmo in the backseat, then moves to the front. Hunk’s eyes widen as he sees the hickeys on Keith’s neck. “Keith, did he hurt you?”

“No, no, this is--this is fine. Honestly. Can we go?”

Hunk pulls away from the apartment and maneuvers his way gingerly through the tight streets of the historic neighborhood until they reach the freeway. After giving Keith ten minutes of silence on the dot, he says, “Keith, I need you to be honest with me. What happened?”

“I don’t know. He just came in my room and was yelling at me and yelling about Shiro and yelling at Sniv--”

“Who’s Sn--oh,” Hunk says, shutting up instantly. “What, so was it, like, a lover’s spat? Did you get frisky with Lotor’s boyfriend?”

“No, that’s the thing. Lotor keeps telling me he doesn’t date and he doesn’t want a relationship. And he was mad at Sniv, too. I don’t know why. So far he’s been so friendly, and this was just out of nowhere. I don’t know what happened.”

“Well, maybe after he’s cooled down you guys can talk about it. If you think he’ll listen.”

Keith shakes his head. As annoyingly pushy as Lotor could be, Keith couldn’t say he disliked him, and in their short time rooming together he’d started to think they were starting to be friends-ish. “I wouldn’t be mad at him if I just knew what Sniv did to make him mad.” He looks at the two bags in his lap, one of them crumpled and missing half of its tissue paper. “He was already mad about Shiro’s gift. Said he didn’t need the charity, or whatever.”

Keith flips the nametag over and sees that on the other side of Lotor’s name is Hunk’s, not Shiro’s. He looks up at Hunk, and sees that Hunk looks genuinely hurt.

“Hunk, I’m so sorry.”

“No, no, it’s cool. I shouldn’t have assumed. Maybe he doesn’t celebrate Christmas?” Hunk exhales and flicks on his blinker. “It’s just--Shiro told me he was getting everyone gifts, and I thought maybe if we got one for Lotor, he’d feel included, and you guys would get along. I thought it would help. I should’ve just minded my own business, huh?”

“Hunk, it’s not your fault. Lotor’s got some kind of issue or something. He pried into all of my personal business and keeps making fun of me about Shiro, but he told me to butt out when I asked him why he was so mad. _Fuck_.” Keith thumps his head back against the headrest. “I should’ve just stayed in my old apartment. This is all my fault.”

“Hey, what’s done is done. You’re stuck with him until your lease expires. Maybe you guys can patch things up after the party. Anyway,” Hunk says, turning off on their exit, “I couldn’t decide between sugar cookies or snicker doodles, so I thought--why not both? They’re both valid in their own special ways, even if they’re kind of the same but not really, you know?”

“I know, Hunk,” Keith says, patting his shoulder. “I know.”  


\-----

  
Hunk and Shay’s apartment is on the second floor of the bakery. Keith holds the door open while Hunk staggers in with two large pizzas, a two liter of soda, and an ungodly amount of garlic knots. The couch pulls out into a day bed, and even though it’s barely six pm they settle in for a sleepover. Hunk puts on a cheesy horror movie and hides under the covers, only re-emerging to get another slice of pizza. When the first movie ends a second one starts to play automatically, and Keith enjoys vegging out, only getting up to pee or refill their drinks.

When 10pm rolls around and Hunk’s snores are so loud they drown out the movie, Keith turns the TV off and slips out of their tangled fort of comforters to get a cup of water. He sits at Hunk and Shay’s kitchen table and checks his phone, frustrated to see that Lotor hasn’t tried to contact him. He considers texting Lotor first, to let him know where he is, then forgets all about it when he sees all the notifications he’s missed out on.

He scrolls through his Instagram feed and halts in anger at a picture of Roy that Shiro posted about an hour ago. Roy’s finally gotten a haircut--Keith expects to see an in memoriam post on the #MulletWatch facebook group before midnight--and is posing in front of a fireplace with a young boy, around twelve or thirteen years old, who grins at the camera with a noticeable gap between his front teeth.

“Rick and Uncle Roy,” Shiro’s caption reads, straight to the point as always. Several replies compliment the Christmas decorations or mourn the taming of Roy’s mane. Keith scrolls down, and sets his cup of water down hard as he sees an alarming amount of comments about whether Shiro and Roy plan on having kids of their own.

royfokker: ;)

At least now Keith knows who to blame for Shiro’s emoji habit. Keith leaves his phone on the table and burrows back onto the couch bed with Hunk and Kosmo, trying to ignore how wrong it feels now that he knows what it’s like to scent bond with an alpha during a tie. His body reacts to Hunk’s alpha scent in a way that it never has before, and within fifteen minutes he has to get up and sit on the floor, head in his hands.  


\-----

  
Lance’s annual Christmas-Hannukah bash is always held at the park. Hunk and Keith arrive early with the cookies and two casserole dishes of pigs-in-blankets to find that Coran and Allura are in the middle of setting up decorations.

“Oh, excellent,” Coran says in relief as Hunk helps the tablecloth stay in place by setting a platter on each corner. “The wind’s been terrible today.”

“I have just the thing for that,” Hunk says, and produces four thermoses of hot chocolate from his giant picnic basket. “Allura, I left the marshmallows out of yours. Coran, yours has ginger.”

“Thank you, Hunk,” Allura says warmly, sitting down across from Keith. She smiles at him, then her expression falls. “Keith, is everything alright?”

“Yeah, why?”

She squints. “You just seem . . . different. New shampoo?”

“Yeah, it’s juniberry scented.”

Allura’s face lightens up. “Oh, I thought it smelled familiar! That’s my favorite scent for hand lotion. Would you like some?”

“Sure,” Keith says, and lets her moisturize his hands. He tries not to wince when she brushes up against the scent glands on his wrists, still sensitive from the other day. “I don’t have any pictures of the wedding, by the way. Sorry.”

“That’s fine. You were rather tipsy after the ceremony.”

“You mean _totally effin’ sloshed_ ,” Lance’s voice booms from behind them, and Keith tries not to roll his eyes. He puts his cold hands back around his thermos and sips at his hot chocolate while Lance slides alongside Allura and kisses her on the cheek. “Keith, don’t ever try to krump in public again. For all our sakes.”

“Nice to see you too, Lance.”

“Where’s Pidge?” Lance asks, swiping a snickerdoodle off the plate when Hunk’s back is turned. “I’m starving.”

“Ah, number five is stuck in traffic! She’ll be here as fast as her motor scooter can take her,” Coran says. “Now who wants to play a nondenominational game of Blackjack while we wait?”

Keith opts out, and merely observes as his friends play. Nervously he wonders if, at any point, one of them will notice the change in his scent or the hickeys hidden by his scarf, and is thankful when Pidge putters up to their table twenty minutes later and they can finally get the party started.

Most of the presents are cheap gag gifts, like a fake mustache for Hunk and a pacifier for Lance. Allura sticks it in his mouth and giggles at his sour expression, then takes it off and pecks him on the lips.

“Well, leave it to Shiro to pull out all the stops,” Hunk comments as they all set their bags from Shiro on the table. “I’m not complaining, though. Who wants to start?”

“Me and Allura,” Lance says, already plucking out the tissue paper before he upends the bag and opens the card inside, reading through it once, then a second time more slowly.

“Lance, are you crying?” Pidge asks.

“ _No_ ,” Lance sniffles, tucking the card back in its envelope. “I just have holiday cheer in my eye.”

“It’s very thoughtful,” Allura says, reading her own card. She wipes at her eye then sets it down next to Lance’s. “Okay, sweetie, enough of that. Let’s see what he got you.”

As it turns out, Shiro got Lance a Kamen Rider action figure and Allura a bonzen hair ornament. Lance pins the ornament in Allura’s hair for her, and the bright pink stands out against her pale hair.

“It’s beautiful,” Allura says, touching the ornament.

“Isn’t he?” Lance says, sighing dreamily at his figure of Kamen Rider Zeronos.

Hunk receives a box of wagashi and a cute Chococat apron, Pidge gets a Gakken pinhole planetarium, and Coran is tickled pink at his calligraphy set, which Allura says will be misplaced by the New Year, mark her words. All of them keep the contents of Shiro’s cards to themselves, and when it’s Keith’s turn to open his gift and read his card he considers playing dead just so he won’t have to risk crying in front of his friends.

He opens his envelope from Shiro cautiously, and glances over it in the hopes that reading quickly will keep the feelings at bay.

_Keith,_

_I am so proud of everything you’ve accomplished this year and so grateful for everything you’ve done for me. Graduation is just around the corner and I know you’ve worked hard for it. Even though we haven’t been able to hang out as much as we used to, it only makes me treasure the time we do have together even more._

Keith stuffs the letter back into its envelope before he can finish reading it, playing it off as impatience to get to his gift. He feels like he’s got tunnel vision as he pulls out a small, palm-sized item.

“Keith, are _you_ crying?” Pidge asks.

“Not as much as Lance,” he says, clearing his throat. 

“Hey!”

Keith opens the small gift to see that it’s a red good luck charm, and it chokes up him more than the letter did. He buries his face in his hands and tries not to cry, feeling helpless as his face heats up and a lump rises in his throat. As much as he wants to feel loved, when he receives it he doesn’t know what to do. He feels so guilty for being angry and resentful for so long, when all this time Shiro still cared.

“Dude, you okay?” Lance asks.

“He’s fine,” Hunk says, rubbing Keith’s back gently. “I think you just got your holiday cheer in his eye.”

“Well, excuse me for being festive!”

“Speaking of festivities, let’s bring out the cocktail weenies,” Pidge says, banging her fork on the table.

“Yeah, Hunk, bring out the cocktail weenies.”

“Stop saying ‘weenies’!”

The party goes on for several hours, until the temperature drops so low that not even Hunk’s hot cocoa can keep them warm. Allura initiates a group hug, then hugs them all individually before she leaves with Lance and Coran, wishing them a happy new year.

“I can’t wait to hook this thing up!” Pidge says, sticking her pinhole planetarium in her bookbag. “See you guys next year!”

Hunk waves after her until her scooter putters out of site, then gathers up the leftover food. “You okay, Keith?” he asks after they pack everything in the truck.

“Fine. I’m fine.”

“Do you want to spend another night with me?”

“No. I can’t avoid Lotor any longer. Might as well try and patch things up before New Year’s,” Keith sighs, wishing he could do anything else.

“Okay. You can take the leftovers, if you want. You don’t have to share with Lotor, since he’s so weird about it, but if he gets hungry and decides to change his mind . . .”

“Trust me, Hunk. If anything can make his mood better, it’s your snickerdoodles.”

“Aw, thanks, Keith.”  


\-----

  
The lights are out when Hunk drops Keith and Kosmo off. Keith opens the front door and pauses, straining his ear like he did earlier in the week and only going in when he doesn’t hear anything. Kosmo pads over to the couch and curls up with her squeaky toy. Keith sets the food in the fridge and creeps back to the living room. He considers just going to his own room and going to bed, then sucks in a deep breath and moves down the hall to Lotor’s room.

He knocks, not sure if he should expect silence or a pissy reply. To his surprise, Lotor answers in a normal voice. “It’s unlocked.”

Keith finds him sitting cross-legged on his bed, surrounding by dozens of photographs. Lotor’s hand twitches, jerking as if he wants to sweep them all off to the floor, but he leans back against the headboard and meets Keith’s gaze tiredly.

“Look,” Lotor says before Keith can speak, “I know I was a dick the other day.”

“Yeah. What was that about?”

Lotor gathers up some of the photos and slides them into a large manila envelope. “It’s personal.”

“I spilled my guts out to you the first day we met. While drunk.”

“So what, I owe you?”

“You don’t owe me your sob story if that’s what you mean, but you do owe Hunk an apology.”

“Hunk?” Lotor says, nose wrinkling.

Keith holds out the battered gift and drops it on the bed when Lotor doesn’t move to take it. “I don’t know what you have against alphas, but Hunk’s a good guy, and he asked Shiro to get you a present so you and I could be friends.”

“What, so now we have to hold hands and sing kumbaya? Is that what you want?”

“You put your tongue in my mouth!” Keith says in exasperation. “Look, just open it. It doesn’t have to be right now. You don’t have to tell me what it is.”

Lotor doesn’t reply. Keith waits to see if he’ll reach for the bag, and turns on his heel when he doesn’t.

“Wait. Come here.”

Keith shoves his hands in his jeans pockets and walks over to the side of the bed, where Lotor has fanned out half a dozen photos.

“You told me your sob story,” Lotor says, “so here’s mine.”

The pictures are of Lotor and a broad, well-dressed older man. Definitely an alpha; even through photographs he exudes dominance. One of his eyes is permanently shut by a scar. The other stares at the camera with piercing contempt. He has an arm slung around Lotor’s waist or shoulders in every picture. In the fourth picture, Lotor’s head is turned to the side, and Keith sees a prominent mating claim on the back of his neck.

He looks up from the pictures to see Lotor poking through the gift bag from Hunk. “You were mated?” he asks, trying to be delicate.

“I _am_ mated,” Lotor says darkly. “My bond is old, but it’s not broken yet. If Sendak wanted to claim me legally, he could. But he won’t. Not until he has a use for it.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You think you’re the only one carrying a torch for a scumbag who doesn’t deserve it?” Lotor laughs harshly.

“Shiro’s not a scumbag,” Keith says hotly. “Whatever this Sendak guy did to you doesn’t have anything to do with him, or me.”

“See, you think that _now_ , Keith. I used to think that.” Lotor twirls a lock of hair around his finger. “I thought we were in love, and that everything would work out if we just looooved each other hard enough. But see, if you’re the only one putting in that kind of love into the relationship, all it will do is hurt you in the end.”

He picks up another picture and holds it out for Keith to take. Unlike the other pictures, which are worn, it’s recent, and clearly been taken without Sendak’s knowledge as he stands at a crosswalk with another omega at his side. On second glance Keith sees they’re wearing matching wedding rings.

“I like you, Keith,” Lotor says. “And I fucking hate you. I hate seeing you wallow around and waste your life being sad over some guy. You’re too young for it. You deserve better than to end up like a lonely piece of shit like me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My fool ass had no idea there was a Madonna movie with the same title as this fic. I'll probably change it if I can think of something better.


End file.
